Rescue Me
by Bainaku
Summary: Princess Bubblegum wants to learn to fight bad guys.  With Marceline as her teacher, underwear shenanigans and greenbean encounters unfold.  Complete!
1. Part I

**A/N: **Written for mokou on Tumblr. =) This will be a four-part story.

**IMPORTANT: **This is _pre-Finn_.

**Words: **2,235

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**RESCUE ME – [Part I]**

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"Marceline! You look _terrible_!"

So says Bubblegum as Marceline comes crawling through her window a little past nine o'clock in the morning. The vampire queen grimaces at the princess but doesn't argue—her skin is a ruin of boils and charred bits, and her hair is giving off copious clouds of foul-smelling white smoke. "Close 'em," she croaks, beckoning to the blinds. She reaches for them herself and must instantly jerk back her hand—the sun is pouring in through their slats in great golden ribbons. "Close 'em, geez," she pleads again, and abandons all pretense of staying in sight. She slithers beneath Bubblegum's bed.

Half-dressed and hampered by a tangled sock, the princess nevertheless hurries to comply. She yanks the cord nearby the window. The blinds fall with a metallic _shhhhrup_ and the room plunges into bronze half-light. As Bubblegum draws the curtains too the bronze deepens to a sullen, shimmery russet, steeped and reminiscent of tea. Wisps of the smoke from Marceline's hair drift midair, like fog. Waving through them, the princess kneels at her own bedside and peers into the darkness beneath it.

"Marceline?" she asks. "Marceline, are you all right? Come out where I can see you." She adds, "The window's blocked now."

There's a faint stirring in the shadows behind the bedskirt, then nothing. Concerned, Bubblegum delves her hand into the gloom. Her fingers brush something and come away powdery and gray, covered in what looks like ash but is probably dead, sun-seared skin. Bubblegum's heart lurches.

"_Marceline_!"

"Gimme a minute." Hoarse, Marceline's voice issues forth from the darkness in a growl. "One minute. It's fine." There comes the sound of scuffling and the vampire mutters, hacking out a cough, "Do you _ever _dust under here? Sheesh."

With a flash of shame, Bubblegum realizes she can't remember the last time she actually did dust beneath the bed. Rather than admit this, she lowers her head, pressing her cheek to the floor, and urges, "Marceline, please come out."

Seconds pass. A minute, probably. At last a quivering blue hand comes questing out from beyond the wrinkles in the bedskirt. Fisting in the carpet, it is followed closely by the remainder of the vampire queen.

Marceline's skin is mostly normal again, no longer a horrific scape of seeping burn wounds. Smudges of black char still linger across her torso and face, though, and she scrubs at them with her knuckles and wheezes weakly, "Whew. 'Sup, Bonnibel?"

She smiles. Her lips tremble and her eyelids droop, lashes fluttering soft over her cheeks. Bubblegum, who has known Marceline since childhood, has never seen the vampire look this exhausted. "What _happened _to you?" she demands. "Are you okay?" Anxiety stabs its dagger into her breast. Rocking forward on her knees, the princess folds her hand over Marceline's thin jaw and rubs her thumb in the divot just alongside the queen's puckered mouth. Marceline's rightmost fang rasps into her palm's crease.

Instantly the vampire's eyes snap open again. She blinks wide-eyed up at Bubblegum. Against her fingertips the princess can feel Marceline's lashes quiver—can feel the slow twitch in her cheek. "Rival vampire," she manages, and coughs. A final puff of smoke passes her lips. "Dude was all up in my space, challenging me and stuff. So"—Marceline's face tightens like a towel drawn tight over a rod—"I grilled him."

"Literally?"

"Yeah." Something flashes over Marceline's features: regret? Satisfaction? Pity? Before Bubblegum can decide on one it's gone, melting back into nothing but fatigue, and Marceline turns her nose into the other monarch's palm. She sighs, her useless breath a whisper through the slots of Bubblegum's fingers. "You smell good," she observes, and chases that with, "hey, yeah, so. I'm about to pass out. You got a drawer or something I can chill in for the day?"

"A drawer? Marceline, you couldn't possibly fit in a dra—"

Marceline shrivels. There's really no other word for it. One second she's a soot-covered person sprawled akimbo on the carpet—the next she's a bat, wings unfurled and tattered, coarse bellyfur spotted with grime. "Someplace soft," she insists. Against Bubblegum's hand she shudders: her tiny eyes roll back in her head. She goes limp but for a bitty footclaw that folds stubbornly over the webbing between Bubblegum's thumb and forefinger.

"Smuckers," blasphemes the princess. She nevertheless carefully gathers up her unconscious friend—Marceline is barely big enough like this to cover her hand lengthwise—and cradles her to her collar. For a moment she is terrified to feel no breath or pulse in the little body—but then she remembers _duh_, vampire, and sets about grumbling to herself as she looks around for a place that's safe for Marceline to rest.

"Well," she allows, glancing aside at her bureau, "a drawer really _would _be best." Because the bed's out of the question, so nearby the window and the deadly shafts of sunlight eeking occasionally through the curtains. The closet is full of dresses and various princess-y junk. Putting Marceline in the desk, while an option, might result in the vampire getting poked by a protractor or something.

A moment later, Bubblegum pulls open the bureau's topmost drawer. She gently ladles the comatose bat in amongst her socks and underthings and whispers, "Don't shed on my stuff." She gives Marceline a fretful caress with her knuckles before detaching the vampire's footclaw and closing the drawer. She stands watching the little brass knocker of said drawer swing until Peppermint Butler's call summons her downstairs for breakfast.

The day passes.

It's almost eight in the evening when Bubblegum returns to her bedchamber. She is weary, having spent the majority of the hours between breakfast and dinner meeting with disgruntled diplomats—worried too, because her schedule permitted her no time to check on Marceline during the day. She flings open the door to her room just in time to see her bureau's top drawer skitter out of its slot. In a flurry of limbs and an explosion of socks Marceline appears, humanoid again. She climbs to her feet, yawning and stretching.

Relief courses through the princess. "Marceline," she sighs as the vampire turns to face her, "I'm so glad—"

A pair of Bubblegum's underwear is dangling from Marceline's lips. The princess chokes into inarticulate silence.

They lock eyes, Bubblegum and the queen. Marceline grins. She slurps at her mouthful—it's a horrible noise, a long, lingering _shllllllllp_—until the garment, which was once a beautiful rose, is a dull, dingy gray. Only then does she spit it out. It joins a collection of other color-leeched things on the carpet: two pairs of socks, at least five other sets of panties, a nightshirt, and a bra. Reaching down to rifle through the drawer Bubblegum left her in hours before, Marceline professes, "Bonnibel, your clothes are _delicious_. Oooh! What's this?" She pulls free a particularly skimpy bit of fabric. "Not a _thong_—"

Bubblegum's voice returns in a yelp: "Give me _that_!" Scandalized, she strides forward and snatches away the garment. "You—you _heathen_! What are you _doing_ to my wardrobe?"

"Feeding," Marceline replies shamelessly. "I'm famished, and this whole thing is a freaking smorgasbord. Great choice, man." She plunges a hand into the drawer again. Before Bubblegum can vocalize a protest, she has unearthed and driven her fangs into one cup of a brilliant crimson bra.

"That was _expensive_!" Bubblegum cries. She grabs for it. Marceline growls playfully and they engage in an impromptu game of tug-o-war, the straps of the bra stretching taut between them. All the smaller monarch's strength isn't enough to prize the bra from the vampire's jaws, but eventually Marceline lets go anyway and Bubblegum, with a screech, stumbles backward into the edge of her bed.

She sits down hard on the aforementioned bed once she's regained some semblance of balance. Shaking the colorless—and now shapeless—bra at Marceline, she seethes, "I could have gotten you _real _food!"

Marceline shrugs and drifts aloft, hovering above the fuming princess. "Those were fine, thanks." Bubblegum sucks in a breath to splutter out another indignant retort and the vampire admits, rubbing her belly, "Made me feel better."

Bubblegum huffs. She rises and, after picking up and replacing the bureau's drawer, begins to collect her undergarments from the carpet. She tries to ignore the fact that the fangmarks on every pair of panties are positioned directly above the crotch. "So you're okay now?" she ventures, shoving the garments back into the bureau.

Marceline smirks and provides a thumbs up. "Mmmyep. Thanks for letting me stay—"

"You _scared _me!" Bubblegum interrupts the vampire furiously, spinning on her heel. She jabs her finger into Marceline's startled face. "Coming here all burned and _crispy_! And then just—just passing out like oh _yeah_, don't mind me but you won't even be able to tell if I'm sleeping or _dead_—"

"Dead," Marceline cuts in, voice gentle. She wraps her hand about Bubblegum's finger and leans down to kiss the manicured pink tip, a motion that sends all the sugary blood in the smaller monarch's body shooting straight for her cheeks. "The answer to that one's always gonna be _dead_, Bonnibel."

Bubblegum's throat seems to have shrunken shut. She struggles a moment and manages at last, weak, "You know what I _mean_, you buttface." Yanking her hand away, she stalks over to her closet, begins to peel off her ceremonial garb, and mutters, "I was _worried_." It comes out soft, this statement. "I have no idea about the extent of your regenerative abilities, much less what to do if they're ever not _enough_…"

She leaves the rest and shimmies free of her dress, throwing the thing into her hamper. Midway to reaching for a nightshirt Marceline's arms furl around her bare shoulders, and the princess must bite down into her cheek's inside to keep from shivering.

Whether because she's just had a meal or because she's spent the entire day in a sock drawer, Marceline is unusually warm. She presses her brow to Bubblegum's neck and allows, "Sorry, Bonni. I didn't mean to scare ya."

"Yes, _well_." Bubblegum's fingers find a nightshirt. She seizes it, snaps it. "Fine." And then, because she can't help it, she turns in Marceline's grip to enfold the other girl in her arms. Her face goes into the vampire's belly and Marceline's shirt still smells a little like burned hair, but Bubblegum doesn't care and she hisses, "Try not to do it again, okay?"

"Yeah." Marceline's ribs shiver as she chuckles, and she gives Bubblegum a squeeze, driving the smaller monarch's nose almost into her navel. "Yeah, okay."

"Good."

They linger for a moment in the shared embrace, each reluctant to pull away from the other, but then the vents beneath the desk provide a stir of cold air and Bubblegum _does _shiver. She slips backward to shrug into her nightshirt. "Why were you out in the morning without your daywalking clothes anyway?" she asks.

Marceline leans back into a cloud of her own hair, kicking her feet out parallel to the carpet. "Didn't mean to be out," she answers. "Dude jumped me just before dawn. Asshole," she mutters, and continues, "but I had to deal with him. The sun seemed like the best way, since he wanted to fight more than he wanted to talk."

"And you ended up here because…?"

"Because this place was closer than any of mine."

"Mmhm." Hopping into a set of cupcake-print pajama pants next, Bubblegum frowns and murmurs, "Does that happen often?"

"What? Me frying other vampires?"

"No. Challengers to your crown wanting to fight more than talk."

She turns to look at Marceline, who rubs ponderously at her chin. "Huh," the vampire allows after a moment. "It's not a weekly thing, but it does happen occasionally, yeah. Why?"

Bubblegum fiddles with the drawstring of her pajamas. "I am ill-prepared for such circumstances," she realizes suddenly. "For—for someone who would desire to engage in combat versus diplomacy."

"Huh?" Marceline blinks. "Haven't you got, I dunno, a candycorn militia or something to do your fighting for you? A butterscotch general to head your"—and she smirks—"cavity-causing forces?"

Marceline's smirk fades at Bubblegum's alarmed expression. "No," the princess denies. "No, I don't have anything—_anyone _like that."

"Well, who'd want to invade a kingdom made of candy anyway? No offense," Marceline hurries to assure her friend.

"Marceline." Bubblegum's face has gone creamy and pale. "I control all the chocolate deposits in Ooo. All it would take is one angry, bloated female dictator to realize that and…"

They consider this together.

"So take some martial arts or something," Marceline suggests at length. "Some kung fu, you know. And then when—_if_—someone tries to attack you personally, you just, you know. Beat out their jelly filling. Or whatever."

Slowly, Bubblegum nods. "Training," she agrees. "Yes. That is an appropriate avenue. A fantastic idea."

"I'm full of 'em," Marceline replies. "Stuffed, actually."

"And I'll bet you win all your challenges too, huh?" pursues Bubblegum keenly.

Marceline grins. "Win? I don't just _win _them, Bonnibel. I _own—_hey. _Hey_, why are you looking at me like that?"

The princess smiles. Closing her closet door with a bump of her hip, she points to her fellow monarch and proclaims gleefully, "Marceline, you are the _perfect _person to teach me how to fight bad guys!"


	2. Part II

**IMPORTANT: **This is _pre-Finn._

**Words: **1,395

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**RESCUE ME – [Part II]**

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"Bad guys." Marceline says it slowly, and repeats next, "Bad guys? _Seriously_, Bonnibel?" She arches her brows at the princess.

"Fine. If you don't like that particular moniker, how about threats? Marceline," Bubblegum determines, "you are the perfect person to teach me how to fight _threats_."

Folding her arms in a diamond behind her head, Marceline blinks and frowns. Her legs scissor idly with a swimmer's grace. "Okay," she attempts. "You want me to teach you how to defend yourself. In a one-on-one combat situation." It isn't a question so much as a statement, and Bubblegum nods along.

"Yes," she affirms. "Your mention of a militia earlier—that's a wonderful idea. I should attempt to have my cabinet organize one as soon as possible. Once formed, it—_they_—will care for my kingdom. And as ever, my guards will attend me personally while I am in residence here performing my daily duties. But," she finishes, "it would be optimal if I could properly kick butt when I'm alone. Should the need ever, ahem." Bubblegum steeples her fingers. "_Arise_."

"And that's where I come in?"

"And _that_," cements Bubblegum, "is _indeed _where you come in." Leaving her closet, she crosses the room, tweaking Marceline's knee midway, and plops down on her bed. The mattress bounces; the cuffs of her pajamas flutter around her ankles.

"You could just hire a bodyguard, you know," Marceline points out. "Someone strong who'd stay with you forever. Devote their life to protecting you."

Bubblegum straightens slightly, the corner of her mouth curled still with her smile. "Funny," she observes. "That sounded a little like an offer."

She rubs her hands down her thighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her pajamas. Her eyes flick to Marceline, who has pointedly aimed her face at the ceiling. The vampire's profile, all slender nose and shuttered lashes, is blank.

Bubblegum goes on after a moment, "Will you teach me, please?"

Marceline swings her feet down hard to land. Abruptly Bubblegum realizes that her friend is not wearing shoes, socks, slippers, anything: her feet are bare from the ankles down, their undersides a dusty pewter, their toes long but otherwise normal. Well, normal except for the…

"Is that nail polish?" gasps the princess. "_Pink _nail polish?"

Marceline, who has by now meandered over to the bedside, takes a seat next to Bubblegum. She curls her toes in the carpet, hiding the nails—their color too. "What," she asks, and drives her elbow into Bubblegum's hip, "makes you think I'm even the best person to teach you, huh?"

"As evidenced by your predicament this morning and what you've told me about occurrences like it, you have great experience dealing with unexpected situations involving close personal combat. And"—Bubblegum shifts aside, scowling down at Marceline's elbow—"you know me better than most. Given your expansive knowledge of both variables in this equation—"

"_Variables_?"

"Challengers and me, yes. Given your expansive knowledge of both those things, it only makes sense that you would be able to reconcile a situation wherein I could learn to properly defend myself against them."

"Sheesh!" Marceline laughs. She drops her face into her palm. Scrubs said palm down her cheek. Peeking up at Bubblegum through her fingers, she admits, "You're making it sound like this is some sort of math problem or chemistry final you can study for, Bonnibel. And it's not. It's really, really not."

"You fell into my room this morning and you were almost on fire," Bubblegum replies. Her voice is soft but there's steel in it too, and maybe Marceline notes that the smaller monarch's hands are so tight over her knees that her knuckles are bleaching lavender. "I think I am aware that this is well beyond my comfort zone, Marceline."

The vampire queen sighs and lifts an arm to loop it gently around her friend. "Easy, princess," she soothes Bubblegum. "I'm sorry, okay?" As the other girl slides into the slender slope of her side with a grumble, Marceline smirks and murmurs, "You're really serious about this, huh?"

"Yes!" Bubblegum's tiara jounces against Marceline's temple. "Yes, I am _totally _serious!"

"You really think I'd make a good teacher, Bonnibel?" Before Bubblegum can even open her mouth to answer, Marceline slips away like the shadow she came from long ago and whispers aloft, turning to fling her arms wide. Somehow the light in the room gutters, dims, snaps out, and then there is darkness and Bubblegum is squinting into it, trying hard to decipher where it stops and her friend starts. A touch on her cheek betrays Marceline's closeness: fingertips, pressed still and cool now to the small space just alongside the younger monarch's chin. Bubblegum can't see it, but she gets the idea that Marceline is smiling. "I'm not too evil for you?" continues the vampire. "Not too… _wicked_?"

Something slithery and wet flickers against the tip of the princess's nose. It's Marceline's tongue, and Bubblegum leans the tiniest bit forward, enough that she feels lips brush her skin, before instinct clamps its teeth tight into her gut and she eases back again. Her cheeks are hot, her pulse a drum in her neck. She wonders if Marceline knows. She wonders if Marceline wants—

"You'll make a fine teacher," Bubblegum assures her friend, bringing the situation back to its bearings and ripping her mind away from otherwise improper thoughts. Her mouth is dry—her palms wet with sweat. Smearing them against her pants, she huffs, "Wicked indeed," and turns her head to dry her nose on her sleeve.

The desk lamp across the room winks to life again, the bulb's low _zzzt _sending a spangle of orange over the carpet. Marceline is inches away, grinning now rather than smiling; her fangs dimple the flesh of her lip. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I'll give it a shot. I'll try to teach you to how to tango."

"You will?"

"I will."

Leaping to her feet, Bubblegum throws her arms about Marceline's neck and squeezes. "Excellent! _Wunderbar_! Thank you, Marceline! What should I—"

"Dawn," Marceline interrupts. Folding her hand over Bubblegum's shoulder, she presses the princess back down against the mattress and repeats, "Dawn. Be ready. Cancel all your stuff for tomorrow. And"—the queen holds up a finger—"it's _just _tomorrow, Bonnibel. This isn't gonna be some lengthy training exercise. This is officially a crash course in being a badass."

"Why a crash course?" wonders the princess. "Why so quick? If this is a bad time for you…"

Marceline's fingers tighten over her shoulder. "If you can't learn what I'm gonna try to teach you in a day," she professes, "you'll never learn it period."

"I do far better mulling things over," Bubblegum protests. "Contemplating the information I've been given helps me absorb it. Studying it will—"

"Leave you dead in two seconds." Marceline shakes her head. Leaning over the princess, she murmurs, "I'm gonna try to teach you how to turn this off"—she taps Bubblegum's temple—"and turn this on." Her hand trickles low to flare over the other girl's belly. "Gotta learn to think with your guts, Bonni."

Bubblegum looks down between them: looks down at Marceline's fingers, splayed in a star. Reaching to take them, she rubs her thumb over the ridge of the vampire's nails and probes, "Why don't you paint these too? It would look nice." And then, "All right. Dawn. I'll be ready."

Marceline tugs her hand free. Reluctantly? It seems like she does it slowly, yes. "Don't wear a dress," the queen orders. She tacks on next, "I'm not coordinated enough to paint my fingernails. One hand ends up looking like a psycho splattered polish all over it."

"Next time I'll do it for you, then."

Shrugging, the other girl smiles. "Get some sleep, Bonnibel," she urges, and in the next moment she's gone, a shadow slipping soft through the window.

Bubblegum rises and moves to that window, calling out into the night beyond, "Don't forget your umbrella this time! Or your _hat_!" The shush of the breeze is her only reply. It sends the skin of her arms stippling into gooseflesh. Rubbing at them, Bubblegum mutters, "I can't afford to let you sleep in my drawer again—I'll run out of underwear for you to leech," and withdraws into the relative warmth of her bedchamber to await the morning.


	3. Part III

**IMPORTANT: **This is _pre-Finn._

**Words: **2,405

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**RESCUE ME – [Part III]**

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Bubblegum wakes, sits up, and squints sleepily at the curtains drifting nearby her bed's end. The slice of gray sky behind them betrays the time. Rubbing an eye, she slides from her sheets and stumbles to her closet to dress. Ten minutes finds her padding through her castle's kitchen and into its attached vast dining room, where Marceline is waiting above the table with an apple impaled on her fangs. The vampire floats to the princess and smothers a chuckle against her fruit's punctured flesh.

"Now _that's _an outfit."

Bubblegum blinks and looks down at herself. "What?" She tugs anxiously at her shirt's hem. "Why do you say that? What's wrong with it?"

Cutting a slow, ambling circuit about the smaller monarch, Marceline shrugs and drains her apple. Tossing it expertly into the trash beyond the table, she supplies, "There's nothing _wrong _with it. It's just very… you know. _Princely_."

"It is _not_! It's just pants and a tunic and—"

"Sleeve puffs?" Marceline gives one a curious prod. The fabric compresses with a soft _psssh_. "Mallowtastic!"

"They're _durable_," argues the princess. "That's the purpose of the entire ensemble—"

"Oooh, _ensemble_," purrs Marceline. She's behind Bubblegum now, the tendrils of her hair flexing like fingers inches above the floor and the tabletop both. "It does _wonders _for your butt, Bonnibel. Well, well, _well_."

To avoid uttering an embarrassing reply, Bubblegum seizes a muffin from the table and crams it into her mouth. It's blueberry and quite good—still warm, even. "Mmmpf," she proclaims, and goes on primly after swallowing, "I'm glad you approve. So"—she quickly hides her face behind a napkin—"what are we doing today? Are we going to, ah—how is it said? Oh!" Beaming, Bubblegum finishes, "Are we going to _throw down_?"

Marceline laughs. She picks up another apple and rolls it from the fingertips of one hand to the palm of the other, letting it wheel down the backsides of her arms. Chucking it high next, she denies, "Nah, we're not gonna throw down."

"Will I be practicing on dummies, then? Or maybe copying specific _kata_ from you? Engaging in yoga to limber up?"

_Spack_! Marceline catches the apple again. "None of the above," she allows. "Grab a muffin to go, Bonni—let's boogie." And with that the vampire makes for the door.

Hastily the princess scavenges an armful of breakfast bits and hurries after her friend. They step into the foggy gray dawn together—sorta. Marceline's still hovering. The vampire spares the horizon a single instinctive glance before setting off south through the Kingdom's grounds, the sketch of her shadow stretching out thin and faint behind her.

"You're dressed more appropriately for the weather today," notes Bubblegum, offering up to Marceline a tart covered in a fine glaze of glistening jam. Raspberry? Cherry? It doesn't matter to the vampire, apparently. Pocketing the apple, she takes the tart and nods.

"Yeah, I brought gloves and everything too." She motions to the pair of yellow gardening gloves strapped to her belt. "Just in case."

"Good," approves the princess. She lifts another muffin to munch at it and thoughtfully eyes Marceline's hand as it swings between them, almost level with the smaller monarch's ribs. She remembers how it looked the night before against her belly—how the vampire's nails felt on her fingertips, rough but careful too. Reaching out, she unabashedly takes her friend's hand and presses her thumb into the slot beneath the other girl's index finger, hooking the two of them together the same way she might string a key onto a ring.

Marceline grins sidelong at her, swinging the knot of their hands. She doesn't say anything, though, and neither does Bubblegum. In companionable quiet they walk along the path toward the Kingdom's borders and partake of their breakfast, threads of fog creeping along the ground before them in seeping white ribbons. They breach the border: gradually the path crumbles into grass, and the grass into thin, pebbly soil through which the beginnings of tree roots snake and slither. Gnarled cypress and sluggish oaks cluster around them. In the distance a greater forest looms, its edge shrouded in mist and shadow. There is no birdsong. The moon hangs like a fat sickle in the pale, pearly sky, and at last Marceline stops and says, "Okay."

Bubblegum pauses too, blinking back at the vampire. Her knees ache a little from the hike; a bead of sweat slides down her temple's hollow and into the corner of her eye. It stings and she rubs at it with her free hand, echoing, "Okay?"

"Yep." Marceline's grinning. It's an expression that makes the princess's stomach give a nervous prickle. "We're here," she continues, gesturing about like the statement is significant.

"Ah." Bubblegum glances around: at the nearby forest, silent and creepy. At the mist, also silent and creepy. "We are… _where _exactly?"

"_No_where," Marceline clarifies. "Unfamiliar place. Right?"

Once more the princess surveys her surroundings. If she squints back the way they came, she can vaguely make out the foothills wherein her Kingdom rests through the trees—that aside, she recognizes nothing. "Very unfamiliar," she confirms.

"No viable resources anywhere," unveils the vampire. "Right?"

"Right," Bubblegum consents.

The other girl gives her what is obviously a disappointed look: lashes lowered, lips pursed. "_Wrong_," she disagrees. "Geez, Bonnibel. You're here, aren't you?"

"I don't follow you," admits the princess.

Marceline's hand flexes under hers, a coil of cool steel. "You're here," she repeats. "You. _You_." Her thumb bumps over Bubblegum's knuckles one by one, and she says, "The first and _only _step to conquering a threat is to understand that _you _are your own best resource."

Pulling her hand away suddenly, the vampire stretches midair—up, up; her body is so long and lean and Bubblegum's eyes trail over it, and there is a faint pang low in her belly that has nothing to do with breakfast. She folds her freed fingers into a fist and opens her mouth to say something, but Marceline doesn't let her. Instead, Marceline tips her a wink, suggests, "Remember that, babe," and dips a hand into her pocket. Pulling from that pocket the apple she took from the castle's table an hour or so prior, she cocks her arm back: aims, maybe. Her whole frame pitches forward as she hurls the apple off toward the forest. It arcs through the fog, a prick of crimson. It disappears into the thick tangle of the trees and there is a quiet _plunk _a few seconds later, the same sound a shoe makes hitting a step sideways.

"Were you trying to hit something?" Bubblegum asks, peering toward the haze of the treeline. When there is no reply, she blinks sideways and discovers that Marceline is gone. "Uhm," begins the princess. She stops as a rumble reverberates through the loose soil beneath her feet.

_Sssssshrrrrrrrrrp_. A great tearing sound ripples through the air. It is followed by another rumble, this one stronger than the first in that Bubblegum actually stumbles, and it might be a foggy morning but the princess doesn't need full visibility to see the collection of huge vine-tentacles come crashing through the trees at the fore of the forest in the distance. Branches snap and explode as what looks like a giant drooling porcupine-y greenbean roars into view, a rather familiar apple lodged on what might just be a very spiny eyebrow.

"Oh butter brickle," whispers Bubblegum.

The greenbean monster's head swivels toward the princess. It opens its mouth and good _glob_, why does a creature composed mainly of cellulose need so many chiseled glistening _teeth_—

Something slaps sharp over Bubblegum's backside. "_RUN!_" Marceline barks in her ear. With a yelp and tripping over her own feet, the princess turns and runs pell-mell back down the path in the direction opposite the angry bean-creature. It follows her, snarl-gurgle-spitting. The ground shakes with the force of its pursuit.

Bubblegum has never been an athlete. There's something to be said for adrenaline, though, and in record time the princess has skirted the path's edge and begun to stumble down its incline. Here the forest thins to a tiny trickle of trees, and she thinks—as well as she _can _think with hot salad-smelling breath washing over the back of her neck—that maybe the creature won't be able to pull itself along if she can just get to open ground where the trees are sparse. She is just beginning to feel hopeful about this idea when her foot catches a rock. Her leg folds; her other knee knocks up against her chest. Screeching, she rolls head over hip down the embankment and ends in a heavy sprawl at its bottom. Air whooshes from her lungs in an unwilling gasp. Stars shuttle across her vision and there is a low _tink-tink-tink _as her tiara goes skittering away into the underbrush.

A vine slithers eagerly over her ankles.

She finds the strength to scream. "YEEEEECH!" Scrabbling for purchase, she wheels onto her back and kicks out viciously with her legs. Her boots hit nothing, and a moment later she is dangling upside down by the ankle before the scissory maw of the disgruntled bean-creature. Ribbons of its saliva splatter over her cheeks. As she twists and struggles and writhes, it lowers her toward her certain demise—

"That's good, Carl!" says Marceline, who reappears suddenly midair alongside Bubblegum.

Inches from incisors as long as her forearms, Bubblegum finds that her descent has stopped. The vine about her ankle flexes, snaps her aright: drops her gracelessly back into the wet leaves at the bottom of the embankment. Before she can so much as splutter the bean-creature has receded back toward the forest, quick as water disappearing down a drain.

It does at least have the decency to flick her tiara back into her lap as it goes.

Numb, Bubblegum manages, "_Carl_?"

_Krnch-krnch_. That's Marceline landing next to her. Dropping into a crouch, the vampire grins unrepentantly into the princess's shocked face and agrees, "Carl, yeah. Edamame daikaiju. Real sweet guy, actually." She settles her elbows on her thighs, her hands hanging in a gray triangle between them.

"Eda-who_what_?"

Marceline shrugs. "Giant bean monster. Harmless."

"Harmless? _Harmless_?" Gesturing to herself, the princess snaps, "He just tried to _eat _me! I was _this close_"—she holds her fingers a fraction apart to demonstrate—"to going into his _gut_!"

"Nah." The vampire reaches to pluck a wet clump of leaves from Bubblegum's hair. "I asked him to chase you. Scare you." She frowns and adds, "I think he eats moss."

Bubblegum chokes out, "You _what_? You—you _WHAT? Why_, Marceline?" The idea that her friend would intentionally put her in harm's way does funny—and completely unpleasant—things to the princess' stomach. Tears prick at her eyes next, fogging the corners.

Marceline's smile dims a bit. "Weren't expecting it, huh?" she asks. "Came outta nowhere?"

"Y-yes!" Bubblegum's chest hitches. She clutches her hands tight about her tiara; the foot she snagged on the rock earlier gives a commiserating throb, and her head hurts too, she realizes, throbbing from temple to jaw. "Why did you—"

"You wanted me to teach you how to fight threats." Another clump of leaves makes it from Bubblegum's hair into Marceline's fingers. Chucking them aside, the vampire continues firmly, "That's what threats are like, babe. They're unexpected and violent and if you don't react to them the right way, bam, you're hurt—or worse."

"Fine—okay. I understand that, but all I did just then—all I was _able _to do—was run away!" protests Bubblegum. There's a trickle of wetness on her cheek. Not tears: she pats at it and her fingers come away a low crystalline red. She's bleeding.

"Exactly." She looks up at Marceline and the queen nods, repeating, "_Exactly_. Sometimes that's all you can do—just run away and give yourself time to come up with a better idea."

"But that's not _fighting_! That's—"

"Survival," Marceline cuts in. She's finished picking bits of things from Bubblegum's hair now, and maybe because her fingers are free she takes the princess's hand. She squeezes it. "You're naïve," she murmurs, and goes on before Bubblegum can reply, "but you need to wake up, Bonnibel. Fighting's not just about wrestling and fisticuffs. Fighting's about strategy. And strategy's about survival." Rubbing her thumb through the smear of blood on Bubblegum's palm, she nudges, "Get me?"

It's a rational argument, Bubblegum has to admit. Perfectly logical. Biting down on the resentment bubbling in her belly, she nods and acknowledges, "Yes. Yes, I think I get you."

"Good." Marceline smiles. As ever, it's a pretty smile—but there's a hard edge to it, a spark of fire on a blade. "Remember what I told you earlier?" she presses. "About the first and only step to conquering a threat?"

"I am my own best resource," Bubblegum repeats dutifully.

"Yep. Stick to it—do whatever you can to keep yourself alive and out of harm's way."

"And when that doesn't work," mutters the princess, scrubbing her free hand over her eyes, "hope your vampire friend is on a first-name basis with your aggressor. Yes?"

Marceline's smile warms to a grin. "Hey, couldn't hurt."

"Carl? _Really_? Geez." Huffing, the princess climbs to her feet.

Marceline follows, drifting slowly upright. Letting go her grasp of the smaller monarch's hand, the vampire sucks at her fingers. Her eyelids flutter and then she's close to Bubblegum, shoulder to shoulder, her hair knotting the two of them in a net of shadows and solitude.

"Got a scratch on your cheek, Bonni," she notes. Her hand climbs up between them and folds over Bubblegum's chin. Tugging the princess another inch or so forward, she gently turns the other girl's head in her palm and closes her mouth over the cut on Bubblegum's cheek.

The brush of her tongue is cool velvet: once, twice.

Bubblegum feels the cut seam painlessly closed.

A moment later Marceline pulls back, balancing Bubblegum's chin on the tip of two fingers. "Better," she opines. "Can't even tell it was there."

"G-good," Bubblegum answers. Her face is boiling but for the spot Marceline's lips touched: that's still chilled and faintly wet. "Excellent. Uhm. Th-thank you."

"Yep." Marceline begins to float up the embankment. Thumbing over her shoulder, she winks and insists, "C'mon, Bonnibel. Time for round two."

"Round _what_?"


	4. Part IV

**A/N: **Here's part four. =) And because I simply can't stop yet, there will be a short epilogue too.

**Words: **2,950

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**RESCUE ME – [Part IV]**

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Three frost giants, two sandspur witches, and one very pissed off unicorn later, Bubblegum is bruised, battered, and she might even have a sprained ankle, but she's finally gotten the hang of running away from threats. "Climbing the tree—hey, that was a good idea," Marceline compliments the princess. As she picks prickles from Bubblegum's sleeve, she adds, "Maybe try a not-thorny one next time, though."

"Forgive me for not being choosy when a massive horse-creature is trying to shove its horn up my—_ow_! Marceline!" hisses the smaller monarch. "That _hurt_!"

"Oh shush. It did not." Studying the sleeve, the vampire leaves it and turns her attention to Bubblegum's tunic. That is still studded liberally with thorns. "You might as well just take this off," she allows. "I'm never gonna get all these out."

"And they're _jabbing _me," growls Bubblegum. She holds up her arms and wiggles her fingers demonstratively. "Help," she insists.

Marceline looks at Bubblegum sharply—or maybe it's sharply. With the sun slanting in through the trees now, orange and cool for afternoon's end, Marceline's wearing her hat and it's hard to see her face. Shadows crisscross her nose and brow in ribbons. Her cheek moves, though, and she licks her lips. Bubblegum can see the shine on them in the sun's low haze.

"You want me to undress you?" asks Marceline.

Bubblegum's cheeks glaze pink. She can feel the heat in them suddenly too, and she scowls and huffs, "I want you to help me get this _off _so the thorns will stop _stabbing _me. C'mon, Marceline. Pull the flippin' sleeves, okay?"

Marceline shrugs and takes hold of the sleeves as requested. She tugs. The tunic comes free in a slither of fabric. The thorns catch at and skitter over flesh. Bubblegum makes a noise low in her throat but doesn't complain otherwise, folding her arms over her chest. She's bleeding in half a dozen places: bicep, breast, belly. Spots of red fleck her undershirt, and she plucks at said undershirt with a wince as Marceline observes, "Geez, Bonnibel. That tree really did a number on you, huh?"

Bubblegum shrugs. "Maybe, but I look better after having done battle with it than I would have looked after the unicorn finished with me. Isn't that true?"

The corner of Marceline's mouth twitches. It looks almost like she's trying to suppress a grin. "Yeah, well—sure. Sure it is." A thick bead of blood spills down Bubblegum's inner arm and she amends, watching its slow trickle, "Still, you look pretty rough."

Taking the thorn-studded tunic from Marceline, Bubblegum uses it to mop at the worst of her tree wounds and permits, "I have indeed demonstrated a better appearance. But"—and she flashes Marceline a small smile—"I didn't need your help that time. I got away by myself and everything."

"Yeah, you were pretty hardcore." Marceline nods. "Stewart's a fast one too, and vicious—I'm not _entirely _sure he got the idea that he wasn't supposed to hurt you when I talked to him earlier, so—"

"Stop, _stop_. I don't want to think you actually wanted me skewered by a horse-beast," the princess pleads. Closing her eyes, she leans her head back against the tree she's currently resting beneath—a non-thorny one this time; she checked—and waves a hand. "What's important is I'm improving. Right?" She can't help squinching one eye open again to look hopefully in Marceline's direction.

The vampire drifts quietly above her for a few moments, her face unreadable. Shadows tie knots over her skin, charcoals and blues and grays, and Bubblegum thinks of beautiful things, of thunderheads and night fog, before Marceline allows, "You're doing better than I expected. But," she hedges, and glances sidelong at the princess, "you've got a lot more to learn and it's gonna be dark soon. I only promised you a day."

"Which I _still _don't understand. It's not like you've really got better things to do," grumbles Bubblegum.

Marceline grins. It's a terrible expression, all teeth and no mirth, and she rumbles, "Hey." Soft. Soft, like the wind's whisper through the castle eaves at night. "Hey," she says again, "_hey_. I'm a busy gal, Bonnibel. I've got a kingdom to run, same as you. Don't act like this isn't my precious time here, okay? Especially when I'm trying to help you."

Bubblegum blanches. Marceline's got a point—and besides that, a throbbing ankle and a few scratches don't give her the right to be rude to her friend. "Yes—I'm sorry. I am," she contends even at Marceline's eye roll. "Thank you for taking the time—the _precious _time," she corrects, "to help me."

She reaches out to press her slippery fingers over Marceline's dangling wrist. Sweat and blood smudge the sallow skin there, and the vampire sighs, shrugging. A smile—nicer this time, smooth at the corners—plays over her mouth. "You're welcome," she replies. Wheeling upright and sliding her hand to encompass Bubblegum's, she admits, "We _are _losing time, though. C'mon." Her grip tightens and she hauls gently at the smaller monarch's arm. "Up y'get."

Bubblegum heaves aright, wobbles—her ankle sends a white-hot burst of pain shooting into her knee, but she clenches her teeth against it and asks, "What's the next thing that's gonna come after me, huh? A lava ghoul? Or maybe a marshmallow spirit?"

Nudging her shoulder beneath Bubblegum's, Marceline answers, "Dude, you are _so _not ready for a marshmallow spirit. Don't get all feisty and stuff on me, 'kay?" She helps the princess past the thorny tree and down a small slope, taking care to avoid the patches of tangerine sunlight sprawling over the grass. The sound of a stream burbles into life between the bushes dotting the landscape, and the vampire goes on, "Here. Sit on this rock—yeah, there ya go. Turn sideways. Scooch over here. And gimme your foot."

Bubblegum obeys, fronds of heat climbing up her throat. A moment later Marceline is fumbling at her boot's laces, her tongue between her teeth. "You don't have to do that," attempts the princess, but the boot slides off and her heel strikes Marceline's open palm. She yelps.

Frowning now, Marceline shimmies off the foot's stocking and carefully sets about probing the limb. The skin is puffy beneath her fingers, swollen to a lavender bulge nearby where the princess's foot curves upward into her leg proper on the inside. "You'll need to wrap this later, I bet," she opines. "In the meantime, soak it in the stream. Take a breather."

"But we're losing daylight!"

Glancing aloft, Marceline blinks. At the princess's mutinous look, she flaps her free hand and chuckles, "Sheesh, okay. A for effort!" Red gaze softening in what must be affection, she continues, "Don't worry. I'll get the next part of your training ready while you chill—literally. I won't"—and she makes a crossing motion over her chest—"waste a second."

"Good!" Bubblegum agrees. "Because this is a _valuable _learning experience, Marceline. I want to take full advantage of you." She realizes the implication of her words the moment they leave her mouth. Horrified, she squeaks and claps her hands over her face's lower half. "I mean," she gasps through her fingers, "uhm! I mean—_gumballs_, I don't mean I want to take advantage of you in the _physical _sense! I just want to utilize your _vast_ experience because I know it's to my benefit and—"

She stops, mostly because Marceline's giving her a shark's grin and a little because words aren't working anymore the way they should be, pouring from her lips in a ridiculous babbling torrent. "Would you look at _that_," husks the vampire in the stretch of her friend's red-faced silence. Planting her hands on the rock, she glides slowly forward. Her chest rasps Bubblegum's and the princess squeaks again, softer this time. Marceline thrums, "Someone's _repressed_."

"I am no such thing!" Bubblegum refutes. Marceline's fingers trickle over her knee and the princess nevertheless chokes on her own breath, reaching up instinctively to fist her hands in the vampire's fluttering shirt hem. She pulls without meaning to. Marceline's knees knock down against the rock alongside Bubblegum's hips; the bridge of the taller girl's straw hat scrapes her tiara and Bubblegum inhales, her lips brushing soft over Marceline's brow.

The skin at the corner of Marceline's eye crinkles as she smiles. "Not repressed, huh?" she wonders, and blows a puff of unnecessary air into Bubblegum's throat. It's cool, chilling the sweat there. The princess shivers.

"Shoo!" she demands. "Go on—prepare the next task! _Geh weg_!"

"Sure that's what you want?" Marceline's voice is almost a whisper now, a purr pulled down low. Bubblegum tightens her hands in the vampire's shirt and her friend resumes, "Because, y'know, we could just—"

The sun lances over them suddenly, streaming out from behind the clouds fogging the sky. Marceline winces and jerks backward; her shirt pulls taut between them before slipping through Bubblegum's fingers. "Your hands!" the princess worries. Steam wafts up from those very appendages. "Oh, Marceline, I'm sorry—your gloves, you should put them on—"

"Yeah." Hoarse, Marceline nods and affirms, "Yeah, good plan." She drags said gloves from her belt and begins to work them up over her wrists, stealing glances at the princess with each small, rubbery _snap_. It could just be the gloom beneath the hat, but her cheeks look purple. "So, uh—right," she says. "The next task. Yeah. I'll just—"

"Right! Good! And I'll—eheh. I'll wait here," Bubblegum approves.

"Sure. Uhm. Your ankle. Keep it soaked, like I said." And with that, Marceline turns and drifts back up the hill into the forest. She drops her face into her hand just before disappearing into the trees. For her part, Bubblegum groans and draws the knee of her uninjured leg up to her chest.

"Smooth," she berates herself. "Freaking _caramel crunchtastic_, Bubblegum. What was _that_?" She grinds her cheek into her knee and huffs, "_Shoo_? Why'd you tell her to _shoo_? _Ugh_!"

The stream washes over her foot and the sun dips behind the clouds again, hiding its face. Gradually the pain in her ankle dulls to a faint, numb kind of ache, and Bubblegum watches despondently as the shadows of the fading afternoon ripple across the grass. She knows well the feeling of failure, and at the moment she has the idea that she's sucking at more than just learning how to not be a wimp. "Missed opportunities," she mumbles, and curls the toes of her injured foot experimentally. A thread of pain winds its spool up her leg and she bites her cheek's inside, persisting, "Complete lack of courage. All I'm doing is running _away_—"

Movement in her peripheral vision buys her silence. Turning her head, Bubblegum squints up toward the treeline. There's a person-shaped silhouette hovering there, all legs and lean torso, and at first the princess thinks it's just Marceline. After all, not too many people can fly.

The grass dips into darkness as the clouds in the sky clot, though, and the silhouette moves closer to Bubblegum. Once it's beyond the trees, the princess is able to discern two things. The first is that the person is not Marceline: the arms are too thick, the height too great. Teasing quiet across the meadow, the breeze brings to the small monarch the faint but unmistakable reek of burning hair.

Bubblegum realizes next that she is in trouble.

She yanks her foot from the stream and jerks aright, ignoring her ankle's tremble of protest. By now the silhouette isn't a silhouette anymore but a neighbor, a man with blue, boil-studded skin and a crop of thin dark hair that's been burned away in places, revealing stretches of shiny, seeping scalp. His t-shirt is shredded down the front, his jeans dotted with dried rust-colored spatters. Bubblegum doesn't need to see the marks on his neck to know he's a vampire—doesn't need to smell his sun-scorched flesh to know this is the man who challenged Marceline for her crown a day ago and lost.

The tiny razor-white triangles peeking over his lower lip lengthen into needles.

He circles her. "Leave me alone," Bubblegum snaps, pivoting slowly on the rock to keep him in sight. She adds, "Go _away_."

"Or what?" he asks. His voice is rotten, worms wriggling through dead meat. He leers at her and Marceline has _never _looked at her this way—has never looked at her like she's _prey _ripe for the picking. "Or what, pretty little morsel?" His teeth grate and his fingers hook into claws, twitching toward her.

Bubblegum's heart crowds up into her throat. She puts on a scowl anyway and scolds, "Haven't you tangled with enough royalty lately? Come near me"—she levels a finger at him—"and I'll finish what Marceline started. I'm warning you!"

The vampire smirks at her, his mouth a horror of haphazard nettle teeth and saliva. Laughter whistles between his incisors. He lunges for her.

Marceline's voice whispers in Bubblegum's head, a gentle litany: _You are your own best resource. You are your own best resource._

Bubblegum leaps from the rock across the stream. Her hair billowing out behind her, she runs.

Every step sends a bolt of bright agony up through her thigh. Five paces into the sprint her ankle crumples like paper and she staggers sideways. The vampire goes streaking over her shoulder, snarling—by the time he's wheeled to face her, though, Bubblegum is on her feet and limping determinedly farther into the grasses. The thunder of her own pulse in her ears is deafening. Her instincts are screaming too, begging her to double back toward the treeline, to cry for help. To call for Marceline.

_You are your own best resource._

She's lived a quiet life for the most part, the princess, and this is the hardest thing she's ever done: run across a meadow in the gathering gloom of the afternoon, one leg on fire and the other slick with sweat beneath her breeches. Alone.

_You are your own best resource_.

Six paces. Seven. Eight. Nine and the vampire slams into her from behind. All the air leaves her lungs in a rush. His arms snap around her and his fangs scrape her shoulder, and they go rolling down the meadow's shallow embankment together in a knot of flailing limbs.

They slow to a stop and he's on top of her, his useless fetid breath cold on her face. "Gotcha," he purrs. His fingers bite into her breast, her ribs. "Gonna drain you dry, morsel. Gonna drain you _dry_. Won't Marceline just love _that_?"

Bubblegum grins. "Bon appétit, buddy," she encourages her aggressor. Lifting her arms, she wraps them about his waist and tips him a wink.

He blinks at her, startled, then grins back and rumbles, "Killer, man. I like my food with a little spice." He drops his head alongside hers, nuzzles in: he smells like dead leaves, like scum and slime and basement ooze.

He sinks his fangs into her throat and Bubblegum closes her eyes.

A moment later the breeze stirs the grasses around them. The clouds so far overhead scud from across the sun. There are no tree-shadows here, no sheltering forest. The vampire poised above the princess jackknifes and _screams _as late crimson daylight pours over the open meadow, and Bubblegum yells a wordless epithet into his temple and tightens her grip on him. He's bigger than her, sure, but he's weak too, and he's only just managed to pry free of her arms when another dark shape collides with him. It yanks him from atop Bubblegum.

Spread-eagled on her back with her face to the sun, sucking in weak gasps of air, Bubblegum listens to but does not watch the wrestling match that occurs a few feet away. There is more screaming—a wet, tearing _ssshuck_. The sound of sizzling, like hot grease in a pan. And nothing, finally. Blessed, quiet nothing.

The princess opens her eyes and gazes at the orange sky. Not two seconds later Marceline's face swims into view, dark and wide-eyed beneath her hat. "Bonnibel!" she cries. Her fangs flash in her mouth. "Princess, dang it, say something to me! Say something to me right _now_!"

Coolness on her cheek: Marceline's fingers, fluttering anxious and feathery there. With a great effort, Bubblegum turns her face into them and wheezes, "Ankle. Hurts."

Marceline's lips quiver into a smile. "I bet it does," she agrees. "I bet it burns like a bonfire." Her thumb presses flat in the hollow of the smaller monarch's jaw. Leaning down over Bubblegum, she hisses, "Why'd you try to take him on yourself, huh? That wasn't part of your freaking training—I didn't send him after you!"

Bubblegum laughs, or tries. It hurts. Warm wetness floods down her neck. "I know," she croaks. "I know you didn't. He was just a—a _j-jerk_."

"If you knew that, why didn't you call for me? Why'd you go and run all the way out here?" Marceline demands. "Geez, I wasn't that far away—"

Working an elbow beneath herself, Bubblegum thrusts herself upright and closes the small separation between them. She runs her face into Marceline's. She tries for a moment to find her friend's lips, fails—settles for brushing her mouth over Marceline's chin. "You were _uphill_," she corrects. Her elbow seesaws. Buckles. Black haze fuzzes out her vision in a slow, creeping fog.

"Bonnibel!" Marceline snarls. Her voice dims and drowns as though thrown across a great distance. "Bonnibel, c'mon! Don't you _dare_!"

"Sorry," Bubblegum whispers, and drifts into darkness.


	5. Epilogue

**A/N: ** Finished! I'll proof it better later, promise, but for now—here ya go! I hope you enjoy it.

**Words: **1,955

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**RESCUE ME – [Epilogue]**

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_Ratta-tpp-tpp-ratta-tpp-tpp_.

Bubblegum wakes to the sound of the rain.

Her room is still, bathed in the saffron sulfurous light that comes with storms. Her window is open and the curtains are wet, dripping citrus-colored puddles down across the floor. It's night or close to it: though the tendrils of thick, ropy rain in the window she can make out the faint glitter of starshine. Sucking in a breath that stings going down, she presses her palms flat to her mattress and tries to sit up.

"I wouldn't," husks a voice from off to the side. It's a second too late. Pain strobes down through Bubblegum's torso in a sharp, blinding flash. She drops back to the bed with a gasp, her vision a spangle of sickly floating lights and red fireworks. She squeezes her eyes shut and fists her hands in her sheets.

Gradually the pain ebbs to a dull throb, and something cold knocks against her lower lip. "Here," says the voice again. A hand slides behind and cups her head, tipping it aright. "Drink. Small sips, now."

Bubblegum drinks. It's lemonade, heavy on the sugar. The first swallow cuts like a knife; only the hand kneading encouragingly at the nape of her neck keeps her from pulling away. The second swallow is better, the third almost normal. She tries for a fourth and manages half a mouthful before her chest clenches, tightens. She chokes.

"Easy there, Bonnibel," her benefactor insists. "Easy. Get it down." As Bubblegum struggles to do that very thing, there comes the soft _tock _of the glass being settled on the bedside table. The mattress compresses next, and a shallow hip rubs Bubblegum's ribs.

The last swallow finally slides home. Bubblegum takes a moment, two, three to catch her breath, and across the roof of her castle the rain drones mercilessly, pulsing like some great heartbeat. "Marceline?" she rasps at last. "Is that you?"

She squints up into the sallow light. Marceline smiles back down at her, her face a gray circle surrounded by shadows. "Yeah," the vampire agrees. "One and only, babe. How are you feeling?"

"Ugh." Bubblegum winces. "Like I've been salted."

"Yeah, well. You got gnawed on." Marceline shimmies her hand down beneath Bubblegum's shoulders. Lifting the princess a fraction, she begins to wedge pillows between the smaller monarch and the mattress. "That's not exactly the most _refreshing_ experience. Trust me. I know."

Marceline surely must, Bubblegum reasons. In the thin darkness she can make out the slope of her friend's neck—can see the round twin scars there too if she squinches her eyes up tight. With tremulous fingers she reaches for her own collar, wondering whether she'll find similar dents there now. She touches something unexpectedly rough, and realizes with a shiver that it's a bandage.

"Hey." Marceline tugs her shirt's hem. "Don't go all quiet and shit on me, Bonnibel."

Startled, Bubblegum shifts her gaze to her friend's face. Marceline's brow is furrowed, her jaw taut. "I'm sorry," she apologizes. "I didn't mean—"

"You've been asleep for four days," Marceline interrupts, leaning aside to vigorously fluff the pillows behind Bubblegum's back. By now the princess is almost upright. "Four freaking days. Not a single noise—not a _twitch_. And I've had enough of it, got me? E-flippin'-_nough_—"

"You've been here for four days?" Bubblegum asks.

Marceline freezes, hands flared over a pillow not quite as maroon as her cheeks. Her eyes flick to Bubblegum's, hold them a moment—skitter away again. "You wouldn't _move_," she mutters, and stops. Outside there is a wibble of thunder. Marceline's throat bobs. "You wouldn't move and your doctor—the ice cream lady, you know," the vampire resumes finally, "she said you were gonna be fine, but you were so _still _and you're not usually like that when you sleep. I mean, you always thrash around and nest in the sheets and—"

"How do _you _know?"

"Dude, you pretty much leave your blinds open all the time," Marceline mumbles.

Frail, vulnerable quiet descends on the bedchamber. Marceline looks everywhere but straight at Bubblegum, and the princess knots her hands in her sheets and stares into the darkness at her friend. "You found the time," is the only thing she can eventually think to say. It comes out whisper-soft. "Time," she repeats, and adds, "_precious _time. You, uhm. You found enough to stay that long."

It isn't a question, but Marceline bristles anyway and jerks backward, rocking the mattress. "Aw geez, man," she snarls. "Get a little more sappy, why don'tcha? Can you do that? Can you maybe just—" Her throat clinks and she breaks off, lifting one hand to scrub it down her face.

"Marceline," Bubblegum attempts.

"I was _worried_, okay?" snaps the vampire. "I was _worried _about you and I just—I mean—" Her mouth moves but words stick in it, muted, miserable. "I," she forces out, hoarse, and switches next, "you—back in the meadow. You—you did something and I wanted—I!" Her face clouds and she explodes, "I shouldn't have _ever _tried to teach you _anything_! For glob's sake, Bonni, just _look _at you."

Seething, Marceline rises and storms away from the bed. Or she tries—Bubblegum's hands catch in her shirt before she's made it two full steps, and the vampire manages to drag the princess free of the sheets. Bubblegum cries out as she topples over the bedside. She lands sidelong, half on the tangle of Marceline's legs and half on the carpet. Marceline is less fortunate. Ensnared by the princess, she hits the floor face-first.

The sheet falls over them in a tent.

After blinking away the galaxy of white-hot stars that string their cosmos across her eyes, Bubblegum elbow-walks up the length of her friend. Marceline rolls over beneath her, hissing; her knees bump Bubblegum's belly before parting to let the princess through. Sinking breast to breast down over the vampire, Bubblegum insists, "Yes, Marceline. _Just look at me_."

Marceline turns her face up. It's pink for the play of light through the sheet, and Bubblegum smiles and drops her head and crushes her mouth to Marceline's. She doesn't have the strength to be graceful about it—doesn't have the experience to be talented either but that, oh, that's all right because Marceline _groans _and reaches up to cup her face. Pulls her closer. Growls into the slender swell of Bubblegum's cheek, "If you're gonna do this you need to tip your head a little, lemonade breath. Like—yeah. Like—"

They slide together perfectly then, Marceline's fangs puckering slow over Bubblegum's lip, her tongue a quiet brush between them. Curious, Bubblegum meets it—sucks the forked tip into her mouth. Marceline tastes like the rain sounds, cool and soft and endless.

Bubblegum wants it to go on endlessly too, the kiss, but she's pretty much an invalid and holding her head up is _hard_. With a shiver and a gasp she pulls away, rolling her face down over Marceline's cheek and into her shoulder next. She pants.

Marceline's fingers wander over her nape, drift up into her hair. They find her ear. Squeeze it, tugging the lobe. "What was that about, huh?" she asks. "Why'd you do it?" The unspoken _again _hovers like a flashing neon sign between them.

Before Bubblegum can answer, the vampire scoops her up and ladles her gently back onto the bed's wedge of pillows. The rain sighs—the mattress moves. Propped on her elbows now above the princess, Marceline looks expectantly down into the smaller monarch's face.

"Why?" she presses.

"Well," Bubblegum manages, "when two people want the same thing, and it is possible to _share _that thing to the greater benefit of both individuals—"

"Who said anything about _me_ wanting this?" But a grin creeps up Marceline's mouth even as she argues the point, and she lowers her head to bump her brow against Bubblegum's cheek.

"You _have _been here for four days," the princess reminds her. Her arms are heavy, her hands crawling with pins and needles, but with some determination she lifts and works them around her friend. She adds, "You're heavy, you know."

Marceline nips Bubblegum's jaw. She is quiet and the curtains drip and time passes, the moon rising in the window, the rain tapering off to show it. A thousand things could be said but aren't, and as the bedchamber fills up with a pale buttercream glow Bubblegum allows, halfway asleep, "Why did you open the window in the storm? The floor's soaked, I bet."

"The floor doesn't give a flying fruitsicle." Her friend's real reply is slow in coming: "I wanted to wash away the smell of him."

A twinge lashes through Bubblegum's neck at that. Again she reaches up to touch the bandage. "Will this make me, ahm… will I become a vampire? Like you?"

Shifting back a bit, Marceline shakes her head. Her hair trickles in a river over Bubblegum's arm, all currents and whispers. "He meant to kill you, not turn you."

"Yes, well." Fisting her hand in Marceline's hair to keep her from getting too far, the princess yawns and mutters drowsily, "I suppose he didn't realize that if he intended to kill me, I was going to do my best to take him with me."

There is a sudden stillness to Marceline—a shocked, startled hush. It persists a moment, and then: "You learned it in a day."

Bubblegum swims through the slurry of sleep to murmur in agreement, "The first and only step to conquering a threat"—she must pause to yawn a second time—"is to understand that you are your own best resource." She nuzzles into Marceline: into the fall of her arm, into the slope of her ribs and the hollow of her silent heart. She resumes, "Fighting's about strategy—strategy's about survival. But strategy can fail, and the chance of survival can in turn diminish significantly—"

She stops, not because of uncertainty but because Marceline's touching her, touching her face and smiling, her expression equal parts pride and resignation. "Yeah?" she nudges. "And?"

"And I am _always_ my own best resource," Bubblegum repeats stubbornly. "Left with no other choice, I made myself a threat. I used myself to take that sucker _out_, man."

"Pun intended?"

Bubblegum considers. Decides, "Absolutely."

Marceline chuckles. Smearing her hand down Bubblegum's cheek, she admits, "Top marks. Now go to sleep, dweebo. You can barely keep your eyes open."

"Not until you kiss me," protests the princess. "I've done all the kissing so far and that's not fair because _you want it too_, Marceline, you jerk. Come _on_." She even puckers up to make it easier for the vampire.

Marceline gives her lips a pinch in response: with her fingers. "You know, you still need to learn patience," she observes. "And I'm the queen here, babe. _I _give the orders."

"You're in _my _kingdom!"

"You're in _my _arms."

"You're in _my _bed, you mmmph!"

The kiss is so bad it's good, laughter and fangs and wetness because Bubblegum doesn't know what she's doing and Marceline's tongue is too preoccupied to tell her. It's longer than the first but shorter than the third—and after the third there's a fourth, and then a fifth, and kisses come with touching too, Bubblegum discovers as Marceline's hand delves beneath the elastic hem of her pajamas and furls over her hip.

Together they pause. The only sound in the room is Bubblegum's breathing, rasping hoarse and quick, and Marceline's voice makes two when she grudgingly admits, "You should rest—"

"Not sleepy anymore," Bubblegum insists, and she isn't, nope, not a bit. She pulls Marceline back to her to prove it.


End file.
